


The (un)Helpful Mage

by JaskiersWolf



Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Different First Meeting, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Bisexual Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Bisexual Jaskier | Dandelion, Curses, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Idiots in Love, M/M, Nonbinary Character, Soulmates
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-21
Updated: 2020-07-23
Packaged: 2021-03-05 04:42:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,475
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25428610
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JaskiersWolf/pseuds/JaskiersWolf
Summary: After assisting a mage with a contract, Geralt finds himself being cursed (some may call it blessed). The mage ties Geralt's soul with that of his soulmate rendering him unable to move more than twenty feet away from him. It's just Geralt's luck that his soulmate seems to be the most annoying person in the entire tavern.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 64
Kudos: 573





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Superherogeek1](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Superherogeek1/gifts), [WinterLadyy](https://archiveofourown.org/users/WinterLadyy/gifts).

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this is sort of a side project? I'm working on a bigger story which is a teacher!Jaskier, fireman!Geralt AU but I needed to take a break and play in different AU for a bit. I'm thinking of writing a few short stories like this one with different ways that Geralt and Jaskier meet so if you have any ideas/prompts for that then leave it in the comments or on my tumblr (same name). 
> 
> This one is three chapters long and about 6k. I'll probably post every other day :)
> 
> EDIT: So I totally didn't realise but the premise of the fic was highly likely inspired by a post I'd read on tumblr but had completely forgotten about! The post can be found [Here](https://awitchersbard.tumblr.com/post/623837128142503936/innocentbi-stander) I've also gifted this work to the authors of the tumblr post :)

Geralt pinched his nose and he tried to drown out the noise of the mage’s never-ending wittering. It didn’t help that the tavern was brimming with life and frivolity, thanks to the local bard. It wasn’t that the bard was necessarily terrible it was just that Geralt’s senses were still god damned sensitive following the hunt. The mage that was sat opposite him had hired him to track down their partner following a raid from the Temerian Army. The mage had been beside themselves when they’d realised their precious lover was missing and Geralt was hired to track her down. 

Geralt had tried to explain that he was a monster hunter and tracking down loved ones was really not his area of expertise unless said loved one was a wraith or vampire or werewolf. In the end the heavy bag of coins dumped in front of him and swayed him and he’d changed his mind. It had nothing to do with the heartbreaking tale of romance. 

Nothing at all. 

The mage gazed longingly into their wife’s eyes and they squeezed the woman’s hands fondly. Geralt barely concealed an eye roll as he swiped the coin purse from off the table. 

“If you’ll excuse me.” He grunted and stood up to leave the ruckus of the tavern behind. 

The patrons of the tavern were now yelling at the bard and tossing food in his general direction. The brunet was ducking behind his lute to take cover from the flying rolls. He was snapping back at the crowd sarcastically, the fool, he was clearly looking for a fight. 

“One moment please.” The mage grabbed his hand to stop him from leaving. 

Geralt repressed a snarl but pulled his hand free. The mage was brave to touch a witcher like that. Geralt could probably snap them in half in his sleep. They weren’t a particularly powerful sorcerer, otherwise they would have been able to track their wife on their own accord rather than hiring a witcher. Perhaps they specialised in other types of magic. He knew many mages focussed solely on healing, for example. 

“My kind aren’t welcome here. I should leave.” Geralt grumbled. 

The mage waved their hand and smiled serenely at their wife. “Coin cannot repay the debt we owe you. To lose one’s soulmate in this cruel world is a tragedy that you simply cannot comprehend.”

Geralt raised an eyebrow at the pair. “Soulmate. Really?” He scoffed. “I don’t really believe in that shit. I’ll take the coin but thanks.”

“Carwyn.” The girl breathed softly as she gazed adoringly into her partner’s eyes. “He is more lost than even you had thought.”

The mage, Carwyn, nodded sadly. “I will fix this, Amala, my dove.”

Geralt felt a sinking feeling in his stomach. Things never went well when mages decided to meddle in his personal affairs. “The coin is more than enough.” He insisted. “I can repair my armour and buy a room in an inn at the next town.”

“But dear witcher. The one your soul calls for is here, not in the next town.” Carwyn smiled sweetly at him. Too sweetly. “You must go to him.”

“I’ll take my chance.” Geralt shook his head. “My soul will be fine.”

“Carwyn.” Amala pleaded. 

“This is for your own good, witcher. You will not leave here without the other part of your soul. I have tied them as they were always meant to be.” Carwyn’s eyes rolled back in their head and their voice shimmered metallically. 

Geralt growled. “Fuck. No. Stop it.” His hands reached to the sword on his back.  
  
“This is not a love potion though, dear witcher. I cannot influence the feelings of either you or your beloved.” Carwyn hummed still in their trance.   
  
“I don’t fucking have a beloved.” Geralt grumbled but found he couldn’t move from where his feet where glued to the floor. He couldn’t escape whatever curse the fucking mage was putting on him.  
  
“But you will be unable to move more than twenty feet apart until the spell is broken.” Carwyn gasped and slunk forwards onto the table. Amala stroked their hair and sang softly in their ear as blood began to trickle from their nose.   
  
“How do I break the curse?” Geralt growled menacingly at the mage.   
  
They whimpered, weak from the magically exertion. “I cannot say. The bond must reach its full potential. For some it is rather like brother’s in arm, others will have an unbreakable friendship, and then of course. There is love.”  
  
“Enough now, Carwyn, my love.” Their wife cooed. “You have done your part for Destiny.”  
  
“Fuck Destiny.” Geralt snarled. “If most idiots don’t get tied to their soulmates then why did you curse me?”  
  
“I blessed you.” Carwyn coughed and wiped a trickle of blood from their nose. “All soulmates find each other eventually but I could see your soul had grown dark over the centuries of loneliness and it would have taken your soulmate years to lighten it enough for you to let him in.”   
  
“This is fucking nonsense.” Geralt groaned and stormed out of the pub towards the stables.  
  
He didn’t get far.   
  
The closer he got the the stables, the more he felt like he was walking through thick mud and his heart began to burn in his chest.  
  
“Fuck!” 

* * *

Julian had been in the middle of tuning his lute strings and munching on stale almost mouldy bread, when his heart clenched and felt like it was about to give out. He cried out and collapsed to the floor clutching his chest.   
  
“Fuck!” He cursed, spluttering precious bread crumbs over the floor. His lute clattered to the floor as it slipped from his hands. “No. No. No!” He groaned and pulled himself towards it to check for damage. One of the pegs had come loose and the paint work was scratched but it was still playable.   
  
Thank God.   
  
If only he could breathe again. He gasped for air as he scrambled towards the door of the tavern. He didn’t know why but he knew he had to get outside and fast. He burst out of the door with a cry and fell onto his back. The pain in his chest subsided and he could breathe normally again.   
  
“What the fuck was that?” He murmured to himself.  
  
Had he unknowingly been cursed? It wouldn’t be the first time such a thing had happened, sleeping with married people caused more problems than it was worth but to the gods was he addicted. The thrill of forbidden love. He couldn’t get enough of it and his lovers never seemed to have any complaints. He was a generous lover thank you very much! So generous that he gotten himself out of a few scrapes by sleeping with both parties in the marriage to square things out a bit.   
  
He grinned. The life of a travelling bard was suiting him just fine. Although he was looking forward to his big break and not living off of bread crumbs thrown at him from angry patrons.   
  
The pain in his chest seared again and he doubled up, clutching his legs to his chest and sobbing at the excruciating burning pain in his heart.  
  
He heard a man curse nearby and the pain released him once more as the silver-haired witcher, who he was pretty sure was Geralt of Rivia from the stories he’d heard, approached him. He’d noticed the man talking to an odd looking couple after he’d finished his set. Geralt was an extremely handsome man with his scary swords and moonlit hair but Julian had left him alone. He wasn’t sure he liked the look of the robed person that Geralt was talking to. Julian had not had good experiences with mages so far in his eighteen years and he was not about to start seeking them out. That was just asking for trouble.  
  
“Are you alright, Bard?” Geralt growled and pulled him to his feet.   
  
Julian took one look at those glorious amber eyes and promptly fell head over heels in love with the man.   
  
Again that wasn’t exactly an unusual occurrence for him, but this time felt different in a way that he couldn’t put his finger on.   
  
“Bard?” Geralt asked again, still keeping a firm grip on his wrist as if he was worried that Julian might fall over again.   
  
“I am now that you’re here.” Julian winked.   
  
Geralt rolled his eyes and walked away from him which was really a shame because Julian was a curious fellow and he was determined to find out more about this mysterious and gorgeous witcher.   
  
He trotted after the man, with his lute slung over his shoulders. “Wait up! I want to ask you something!” He called after Geralt.   
  
“Fuck off, Bard.” Geralt snarled. “I’ve had enough questions today.”  
  
Julian wasn’t put off and followed the man into the stables, asking him whether he’d heard his performance in the tavern and what he thought about it but the witcher only responded in tired grunts and hums. Julian was a graduate of Oxenfurt University and he was used to his peers having a little more eloquence. It seemed that witchers spoke in an entirely different language to troubadours and poets. Julian noted the head tilts when Geralt adjusted his horse’s tackle or inspected his swords before mounted the beautiful chestnut beast.   
  
Julian saw the way the man’s body language shifted and relaxed whilst upon his mount, he saw the way his beautiful eyes never stopped flitting about, constantly scanning the surrounding area. He saw the way the man’s calloused hands threaded into the dark mane of his horse and heard the low murmurs of encouragement as he spurred the horse on.   
  
“Come on, Roach.” He called and galloped off down the road.   
  
Julian ran after them but he was too slow and Geralt easily put distance between them.  
  
Until he stopped as suddenly as he’d started. The witcher was thrown backwards from his horse just as Julian’s heart spasmed in his chest and his fell to his knees.

“Fuck!” Geralt swore loudly and crawled back to where Julian was struggling to catch his breath on the dirt path. “Are you alright? He asked for the second time that day.  
  
Julian nodded. “Now that you’re here.” He repeated breathlessly. “What’s happening to us?”  
  
The witcher stiffened and refused to meet his gaze. “I got cursed. You got dragged into it.”  
  
Julian laughed. “What was it? Being tied to the most annoying person in the room?”   
  
Geralt’s lips twitched which Julian assumed meant he was smiling. “Something like that.”   
  
“Makes a change really.” Julian rambled as Geralt pulled them both to their feet. This time the witcher didn’t ride off and walked along side Julian. “Normally it’s me being cursed. One time I got turned into a bird and couldn’t turn back into a human until someone complimented my singing. Of course that one didn’t last that long” He lied, “and being able to fly was pretty cool. Another time I got cursed by some Lord so that I couldn’t fuck any women, that one wasn’t really a problem for me though. He lifted the curse after we spent one memorable evening together to make up for me shagging his wife.”   
  
Geralt sighed loudly and pressed his fingers to his forehead. “Don’t you ever shut up?”  
  
Julian snapped his mouth shut. Geralt looked like he was in pain. Julian noticed how small the man’s pupils were. The narrow slits were almost invisible against the bright yellow amber of his irises and he was blinking frequently. Perhaps witcher’s could experience some kind of sensory overload?   
  
Julian smiled apologetically and tapped out a rhythm on his lute strap instead of his usual chatter.   
  
They ambled the rest of the way towards Posada in silence until dark fell and they were forced to make camp. They were still unable to move more than about twenty feet away from each other. Julian delighted in the development. He’d always struggled to keep friends. He made them easily but there was always something he did or said that made them leave. Now he had a friend who couldn’t leave.   
  
He frowned, his delight short lived. The witcher must be desperate for his isolation. Julian didn’t know much about the mutants but he knew that you rarely saw more than one of them in one place. They weren’t sociable by nature, not like humans were, Julian was probably driving this one mad.   
  
He wondered what he’d done or said that had made the mage tie them together in this way.   
  
Perhaps the mage had really hated his singing that much.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Woooo! There we go! I hoped you like it. I spent far too long thing of Carwyn and Amala's names :P 
> 
> Feedback would be amazing! I'm also on tumblr like I said so feel free to come ask me about either this or my modern AU. I love talking about my writing. This is my first posted witcher fanfic and the first one in roughly canon settings so that was fun! 
> 
> Until next time! 
> 
> -Yaz :)


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter two! Wooo. There's a couple of time skips in this one but I think they are all pretty self explanatory.

Geralt had cursed that damned mage a hundred times over by the time they reached Posada.

The bard stopped chattering pretty early on into the journey but the man was incapable of silence. When he wasn’t humming some melody under his breath he would tap incessantly on the strap of his lute or muttered rhymes breathlessly. The worst part is that he didn’t even seem to realise he was doing it. When they camped for the night the bard had scribbled in his notebook furiously with his tongue caught between his teeth in concentration until the firelight faded to embers and it was too dark for him to keep writing. With some reluctance the bard had curled up on the ground next to Geralt. Geralt tried not to feel guilty but he couldn’t help but think that the bard would have probably been tucked up in a bed somewhere warm if it weren’t for the mage’s curse.

The next morning Geralt had awoken to find the Bard cooing at his horse. Roach, the traitor, seemed to have taken a liking to the chattering troubadour and let him pet her mane. The next couple of days had passed in a similar manner. Geralt’s headache had eased after the first day and his travelling companion had tentatively began to ask more questions and quietly strum away on his lute.

The morning after their last night on the road before Posada, Geralt had woken up to find the bard laying practically on top of him like a blanket. He assumed the human had gotten cold in the night and reached out to share Geralt’s body heat.

They didn’t talk about it.

The bard blushed prettily and rolled off of Geralt as if nothing was amiss and they were strolling into Posada by supper time.

“I need to take Roach to the stables.” Geralt told his travelling companion as he dismounted. “You’ll have to join me.”

“Do we know how far we can go from each other?” The bard asked as he kept pace with Geralt. “Not that I mind your company but obviously there was reasons a man would want some privacy.” He winked at Geralt with a smile that was probably meant to be charming but it didn’t work on Geralt. He would not be charmed by this chattering good for nothing bard.

Soulmate.

He scoffed. Destiny was shitting with him if she thought that a bard would make a good soulmate for a witcher.

“Twenty feet.” Geralt answered and then cursed loudly.

“Witcher?”

“I can’t kill monsters with you trailing after me. We have to break this.” Geralt grumbled.

To his surprise the brunet placed a hand on his arm. Geralt growled as he turned to face him but the bard was looking up at him with those piercing blue eyes and such a soft caring smile on his face. There wasn’t a whiff of fear which was unusual in humans, especially ones that had just been cursed to follow a mutant and monster killer. Geralt realised with a start that the human had not smelt like fear once in the few days they’d been tied together.

“We’ll find a way. In the mean time I can play for our supper.” The bard beamed up at him. “I’ve been getting rather good since leaving Oxenfurt. They train the best troubadours in the Continent!”

“They train you how to fight as well?” Geralt asked.

The bard laughed melodiously and winked. “Not at Oxenfurt.”

Geralt raised his eyebrow at the man but he didn’t seemed inclined to expand. For someone that talked so much he seemed to want to keep his past to himself, unless it involved music, sex or food. Geralt laughed to himself. He didn’t even know the bastard’s name.

They settled into a corner of the tavern. Well, Geralt did. The bard danced on top of tables strumming his lute and singing at the top of his lungs to try and charm the room. His voice was enchanting and he flirted easily with the patrons of the room. Some of the younger girls blushed prettily but the crowd was tough and the bard’s songs were… not the finest Geralt had ever heard. He was quickly booed off the tables and once again left to gather up stale bread from the floor.

The brunet looked disgruntled but lit up when he saw that Geralt had been watching him.

“So.” He said as he flopped dramatically into the seat next to him. “Tell me witcher. How was my performance?”

Geralt just rolled his eyes. He’d been refusing to answer that question since day one. He hadn’t heard much of the bard’s first performance before they’d been cursed, and whilst he liked his voice, Geralt really couldn’t say much else. This time, however, he’d been paying attention and he had one rather large criticism but if he offended the bard then there was no way of escaping his whining.

They may be able to move just about twenty feet from each other but it wasn’t exactly comfortable, and Geralt had noticed that once the bard had flitted inside the building and out of his sight then he’d immediately started to feel a pull through the door even though they were less than ten feet apart.

Bloody mage.

“Oh come on. Three words or less?” The bard insisted and Geralt decided he’d have to take this one on the chin unless he wanted to hear the troubadour sing ballads about mythical beast for the rest of their acquaintance.

“They don’t exist.” Geralt grumbled.

“What don’t exist?” The bard asked his brow furrowed in confusion.

“The creatures in your song.” Geralt added.

The bard pulled a face as he considered the criticism and nodded. “Right. Yes. Well. I’ve never actually met any real monsters. Thankfully. Unless you count lords who beat their wives?”

Geralt smirked. “Not the kind I kill.”

“Tell me about them, Geralt.” The bard leant forward on the table, his eyes sparkling with curiosity.

Geralt raised an eyebrow at him. “You know my name?” It was the first time the bard had used his name and Geralt couldn’t remember ever introducing himself.

“Not many witchers left these days.” The bard shrugged. “Even less with such unique hair.”

Geralt hummed and finished his drink.

“So, witcher, Geralt of Rivia, tell a humble bard a story?” He leaned his head on his hands and Geralt swore that the man practically batted his eyelids at him.

He considered the proposal. If the troubadour was the only source of income for them whilst they sorted out the curse then he’d have to write some half decent songs. Geralt really didn’t want to live off stale bread until he could hunt again. He scowled, but what monsters would the bard would to hear about? What would make the best story? Geralt wasn’t exactly known for his riveting tales, his experience in the field was practical and not the type of adventure that poets wrote epics about.

Luckily for both of them he never got the chance to decide as fate intervened in the shape of a scrawny farmer.

Unfortunately for him the offer of coin was once again too much to resist and devils didn’t exist so it shouldn’t put the bard in too much danger. He would just poke about the fields a bit. It was probably a hungry stag grazing on the crops. No monsters.

Or at least that was what he thought?

* * *

Julian strode away from Roach playing his new, sexy, lute with confidence that his witcher would follow him. Yes yes, of course the witcher didn’t exactly have a choice in the matter but something Geralt had said made Julian think he wasn’t exactly unwelcome company.

Geralt had pleaded with the elves to let him go.

A witcher who had an obvious distain for humanity and who didn’t even know his name, and he’d defended him.

Really if Julian had died it probably would have been easier for Geralt. The man would no longer be bound to him and he could go off and live his best witchery life. Sure he might feel guilty about his death for a few days but surely the man had seen more death than Julian could even begin to comprehend.

And yet, here he was.

Alive.

And still very cursed.

He winced as he got near the twenty feet mark and his vision began to cloud over. He almost dropped his lute as he struggled to catch his breath. He gasped as the sound of hooves trotting on the dirt path echoed round his head and Geralt landed next to him and his knees buckled underneath him.

“Geralt?” He asked weakly.

The witcher hummed an agreement. “Best not stray too far, bard.”

Julian smiled up at the witcher. Geralt’s eyes seemed to soften as he gazed back down at him.

Bard.

Julian laughed he should probably tell Geralt his name.

His name. Viscount Julian Alfred Pankratz of Lettenhove.

The home he’d run away from to become a travelling bard. He didn’t want Geralt to think any less of him, to think he was a coward. What sort of a man runs away from a cushy mansion to live on the road? Geralt would dump him back at his parents’ estate and he’d never get to see the world like he’d always dreamed.

No.

That wouldn’t do at all.

“I was thinking.” He said thoughtfully to his quiet companion as they carried on walking side by side along the path. “I need a stage name. Every good bard needs a stage name. Something unique to draw attention to oneself.”

“Your clothes aren’t bright enough?” Geralt sniped.

Julian gaped at the insult. His clothes were fabulous thank you very much! At least he knew what colour was and the blue brought out his eyes. He narrowed his eyes at the man. “I will pretend I didn’t hear that, Geralt.” He snapped with a flamboyant wave of his hand.

“A likely tale.” Geralt grumbled and Julian rolled his eyes.

“No, my stage name will be the envy of troubadours all across the Continent. A tribute to the song that will make me famous!” He sang gleefully as an idea popped into his head.

“Don’t get ahead of yourself, bard.”

Julian ignored the witcher’s sarcastic remarks. “I may not be able to respect the Elves in my song, otherwise I’ll never be able to change your tragic reputation, but I can pay homage in my chosen name. Our first adventure as a duo, in Dol Blathanna!” He twirled around to accentuate his point. “Otherwise known as?”

Geralt growled at him but didn’t answer.

“That’s right. The Valley of the Flowers! But, dear bard, what does that have to do with your name? I hear you ask.” Julian continued.

“I didn’t ask.”

“My name, dearest witcher, will be Dandelion!” He announced gleefully as he remembered the bright yellow flower from his youth. He’d spent many hours in the garden blowing off the seeds when the yellow petals turned grey and fluffy.

Geralt snorted.

“Dandelion?”

Julian, no Dandelion, put his hands on his hips. “And what’s wrong with that?”

Geralt smirked and tilted his head like an adorable puppy. “Dandelion?” He repeated.

Julian huffed. “Fine. Whatever, witcher. What would you suggest?”

Geralt looked around the fields either side of the path. There were plenty of wildflowers scattered in the grass. “What about that one?” He pointed to a bunch of cornflowers.

Julian scrunched up his nose. “Nah. That’s a shit idea. Anyway I prefer dandelions. They are bright and yellow like the sun that gives us life and heat and burns brighter than the love between two souls.”

Geralt scoffed. “They teach you that at Oxenfurt?”

Julian pouted. “It’s a work in progress. What’s so good about cornflowers anyway?”

The witcher didn’t answer his question but scoured the area for a different flower until he picked a small yellow buttercup and handed it to him.   
Julian looked down at the small flower. It was pretty. It was also yellow like he’d requested.

“Buttercup?” He raised an eyebrow.

“Better than Dandelion.” Geralt shrugged.

Buttercup. No that wasn’t right. Not quite. It needed more mystery, more allure.

He grinned.

“Jaskier.” He announced, a warm feeling settling in his heart. “My name is Jaskier.”

* * *

After their adventure in Dol Blathanna, Jaskier’s music improved significantly as he began to immortalise bastardised versions of their adventures together into ballads and poetry. Geralt felt more confident about taking on smaller contracts for the right price and Jaskier was now actually picking up gold coins rather than mouldy old bread.

They still hadn’t broken the curse but they were making it work. Luckily they had some leeway which meant that they could sleep in separate rooms if the inn had two next to each other and they could get far enough away to piss behind a tree when travelling. 

The strangest thing was that, over the last few months, Geralt was starting to enjoy the bard’s company. He no longer wished for silence on the road and there was an uncomfortable disappointment in the pit of his stomach whenever an innkeeper said they did in fact have two rooms that were next to each other. More often than not it was rooms on either end of the inn which meant they had to share instead. Anything further than fifteen feet was uncomfortable and twenty feet was hell on earth. 

It was much better for both of them to curl up on one mattress or bedroll together than to worry about the burning in their hearts whilst they slept.

Occasionally, Jaskier would take a lover to bed in the room next to his and Geralt would lie awake, trying not to listen to his soulmate, trying and failing. It wasn’t intentional but it sparked some petty jealously in his heart. He remembered the mage’s words.

_For some it is rather like brother’s in arm, others will have an unbreakable friendship._

That was what he would have with Jaskier. Despite the younger man’s flirtations when they’d first met nothing further had ever developed between them and Geralt was fine with that. That was what he wanted.

_and then of course. There is love._

Geralt scoffed.

Who could ever love a witcher?

They didn’t feel like that. That’s what they were told. It was what Vesemir drilled into them.

Witcher’s don’t feel.

But then again, Geralt had never been a normal witcher. His additional mutations had made sure of that. In some ways it had made him more beast like, stronger, faster, better than his peers, but in other ways he was more human. Less predictable and more controlled by his emotions, his fears, his desires.

But what did a witcher desire? Beyond a full coin purse, a hot meal and a whore to bed.

He sighed.

This witcher desired more.

He desired Jaskier.

“Geralt.” Jaskier whined in the bed next to him. “Would you kindly shut up?”

He grunted. He hadn’t even said anything, the bard was probably just bored.

“I have never known such a noisy thinker.” Jaskier continued. “Honestly it would be easier if you just talked! At least then it would be out of your head.”

He hummed and rolled over onto his side and pulled Jaskier to his chest. They often woke up like this but they never spoke about it and they never initiated it whilst they were awake but Geralt was almost overwhelmed with the need to feel Jaskier pressed up against him.

“Oh we’re cuddling now. Not that I’m complaining. I love cuddling but… why are we cuddling?” Jaskier chattered away.

“Just go to sleep, Jaskier” Geralt grumbled into the back of his neck, inhaling his soft warm lavender scent.

“Yes of course. Sleep.” Jaskier sighed and relaxed into Geralt’s embrace. “Goodnight, my dear.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The last chapter will be an epilogue of sorts to wrap this one up. :) Like I said this will be a series of different first meetings for these two dorks so let me know if there's any you want to see! I have a few ideas already, I'll also be posting my longer Teacher fic soon! So keep an eye out for that. This is also being posted on tumblr so come follow me there if you'd like :)


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> An Epilogue of sorts. Big time jump between this one and the last chapter but again it's pretty obvious!

Months turned into years into decades.

The bard and the witcher were still travelling together and if you were to meet them on the road you might believe that they were still cursed. After years of practice they danced around each other, never getting in each other’s way nor moving further than about twenty feet from each other. It was as if they could predict the other’s movements and adjust accordingly.

In fact, after decades of travelling together, the two men still believed they were cursed. They had no desire to be separated and those who wished ill against them had been warned about tearing the White Wolf from his Nightingale. Only death came to those who tried.

“Geralt.” The bard, Master Jaskier, whined as the two men entered a small tavern just a few days ride from Posada. “My feet are about to drop off. If you don’t get us a room then I am leaving you, dear heart. I will get a nice house in Toissant with an even nicer wine cellar and perhaps an even nicer spouse to keep my bed warm.”

The witcher, Geralt of Rivia, scoffed and tilted his head as he smiled warmly at his bard. “Nice try, bard, but we both know that can’t happen.”

Jaskier twirled a lock of his chestnut hair in his fingers. It now fell down to just below his chin in soft waves, he’d given up cutting it a few years ago whilst on a particularly long trek through the forests beside the witcher whilst they were chasing after Ciri. The decision to let it grow had been encouraged by whispers in his ear after dark whilst the witcher’s hands tugged at the growing strands of hair.

“Ah yes. The blasted curse.” The bard fell dramatically against Geralt who caught him with ease.

Geralt rolled his eyes but seemed content to hold the troubadour in his arms.

“Someone once called it a blessing.” Geralt muttered.

“Don’t go getting sentimental on me now, witcher.” Jaskier placed a long elegant finger on the witcher’s nose. “We both know I have all the poetic talent in this relationship.”

Geralt opened his mouth to say something but the troubadour’s finger slipped from the witcher’s nose to his lips, effectively silencing him. The other patrons of the tavern watched the whole interaction with unabashed curiosity. They had heard of the bard who was not afraid of witchers, the bard who teased them and bossed them about as if he were a dragon and not a lowly human. It was different hearing the stories to seeing them in person. Every person in the tavern watched the new arrivals with bated breath.

“Limericks about Lambert do not count, dear heart.” Jaskier chided. “No matter how accurate they may be.”

The witcher smirked at the man in his arms and promptly dropped him. The bard’s arms scrambled to keep a hold on Geralt’s neck and it barely managed to stop himself from landed on his arse.

“Geralt!” He pouted up at the witcher as he clung from his neck, his knees lax and feet still unstable on the ground.   
To everyone’s surprise, Geralt of Rivia laughed and leant down to kiss the bard on the lips. His arms wrapped around the troubadour’s waist to steady him and Jaskier practically melted against the witcher’s chest.

The stories didn’t do it justice.

A wave of hushed whispers rose up in the tavern, all eager to discuss what they had just seen with their own eyes.

In the corner of the tavern was a robed figure, a mage and their beloved wife.

“Carwyn?” The woman with eyes like rich molten chocolate whispered to her partner. “The curse has not lifted?” She seemed distraught by this revelation.

Carwyn closed their eyes and inhaled deeply and then shook their head, a strand of greying auburn hair falling in front of their face. “I think it has, my dove.” They laughed gently. “They don’t appear to have noticed.”

“We must tell them!”

Carwyn shook their head and squeezed Amala’s arm. “My love, please distract the witcher for me.”

Amala stood up and gently guided the witcher from the bar with tales of monsters and a contract. Carwyn intercepted Jaskier by asking the bard about his latest ballads and the tubes of parchment that he’d begun to carry on his back. The troubadour was easily flattered and at times narcissistic so he was led away from the witcher with no real effort on the mage’s part.

Jaskier followed Carwyn towards the bank of the river that the tavern stood beside, talking about rhymes and chord progressions and the intricacies of his music that only a trained ear could pick up but even a fool could love.

Carwyn hummed thoughtfully in the right places and prompted the bard to continue whenever his gaze began to drift behind them. They were about twenty five feet away from the tavern when the bard stopped abruptly.

“Isn’t that right Geralt?” He spun round to ask with a charming smile on his face. The smile quickly faded as he noticed the witcher was nowhere to be seen. “Geralt?!”

The bard began to panic and Carwyn realised they had made a terrible mistake as they suddenly had a knife pressed to their throat. “You tricked me!” The bard spat out, his cornflower blue eyes were blazing furiously. The man may be approaching his fifties but he was not as weak as he seemed. “Where is Geralt, Mage?”

Carwyn closed their eyes. “There is no trick, bard.” They said as calmly as possible but the knife dug deeper into their neck.

“How is this possible?” The troubadour hissed. “I’ve never been this far away from him. Never! It’s just not possible! Don’t you understand?!”

“It was my curse, Master Jaskier, or my blessing as I once told your witcher.” The knife fell to the ground and Carwyn kicked it away with their foot. “When was the last time you tried to leave Master Geralt?”

The bard watched the mage with a curious, thoughtful expression. “I was kidnapped. Bandits. They didn’t get very far. After fifteen feet it was as if I was too heavy for them to carry, not to mention Geralt came screaming after me. They died in pools of their own blood.” Jaskier laughed darkly. “It only happened once more after that before people stopped trying.”

“And when did you and your witcher become a couple?” The mage asked.

Jaskier laughed with a toss of his hair. “Oh well. We were rather more oblivious to that one. It was about three years into our acquaintance. Geralt almost died after he saved the Princess of Temeria from a curse and I, being the fool that I am, blurted out that he couldn’t just die because I loved him! It was bad enough that he’d locked me in a crypt all night to keep me safe and then he went and got himself mortally wounded. If Triss Merigold hadn’t been there then, well, I’m afraid our story would have a rather different ending, but anyway. It turned out that Geralt loved me too and we’ve been disgustingly in love since.”

“You’ve been a couple for over two decades?” Carwyn asked with a hint of surprise in their voice. “You’ve not been more than twenty feet apart for over two decades?”

The bard stuck his tongue out and counted back the years on his fingers. “No?” The word was drawn out as if he didn’t quite believe his calculations. “No. That can’t be right? We must have at least gotten close. We would have felt it.”

Carwyn shook their head. “Perhaps I should have cursed you so you couldn’t be within twenty feet of each other.”

“What? No? You can’t do that. Geralt?!” The bard shouted as the door of the tavern flung open to reveal an incredible irate witcher.

“Jaskier!” The two men embraced tightly and the witcher glared ferociously at the mage. “I knew I recognised you from somewhere. You little shit!”

Carwyn smiled serenely at the witcher, not at all showing their fear even though the witcher could have smelled it a mile off. “When you said fuck Destiny, witcher. I didn’t think you meant it literally.”

“Destiny?” The troubadour pulled back from the witcher’s embraced but his arm stay wrapped around his waist, Geralt was just as loathed to let his partner go but he kept one hand free just incase he needed to draw his sword.

The witcher hummed nonchalantly.

“Now now, don’t give me that. Geralt. What did they mean by Destiny?” Jaskier prodded Geralt in his chest.

Carwyn raised their eyebrow at the witcher. “You never told him?”

“It never came up.” Geralt grunted.

The bard looked between the mage and the witcher with a look of utter betrayal. “What never came up? What’s going on, darling?”

“The curse, or blessing,” Carwyn started to say.

“You’re my soulmate. Apparently. According to some shitty curse from when you were eighteen.” Geralt snapped quickly. “It’s bullshit.”

The bard’s eyes lit up. Bards were in their nature hopeless romantic and the thought of being bound to one’s soulmate was too much for the excitable poet. “Oh ho ho!”He laughed gleefully. “Oh Geralt, you brute! You never said! Just think of the possibilities, the ballads! I could write a play! I’d change the names of course. You know I hate being featured in my own work. Perhaps Yennefer wouldn’t mind, you know my adoring public can’t get enough of your romantic exploits with the beautiful sorceress!”

“There are no romantic exploits and you know it, bard.” Geralt rolled his eyes but his protests fell on deaf ears.

“Soulmates!” Jaskier sighed. “You’ve been holding out on me, my love.”

Geralt hummed.

“Yes yes. I know. You knew how I would react but Geralt!” The troubadour pulled his lute from off his back and began to try out rhymes and rhythms.

The mage followed the pair back into the tavern and as they began to barter with the barkeep about a room, the mage nodded at their wife.

It had taken over twenty years for their spell to pay off but they had finally repaid the witcher for the debt they owed him. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tada! That is the end of my first mini Geraskier fic. Any ideas you guys have for alternate meeting ideas let me know! I have a short list to work through atm :) 
> 
> Probably the next thing to post in this fandom will be the start of my teacher fic though :D Those who may have followed from DW Ten/Donna fandom the next thing I'll be posting there will be Voyage of the Damned rewrite for my Ripples AU. 
> 
> Feedback is always amazing and keeps me motivated to keep writing. I write as a hobby but if you did enjoy this or you have any prompts etc. then I'd really loved if you'd let me know.
> 
> Til Next time! 
> 
> \- Yaz


End file.
